


Liability

by bananamelon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Childhood, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Healing, M/M, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unrequited Love, another soulmate au, u know what the fuck is up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamelon/pseuds/bananamelon
Summary: "I'm a liability / Get you wild, make you leave / I'm a little much for everyone."Lance has been eagerly awaiting to meet his soulmate since before the indigo blotch appeared on his hand. Keith, however—not so much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i felt like writing so i shit out this au (but i wouldn't be surprised if someone shit it out before i did).

The first time Lance is made aware of the indigo spot on the skin of his left palm, he’s alone in his bathroom, getting changed after coming out of the shower. The foreign color, standing out against his bronze skin, catches his eye in his reflection in the large mirror above the sink as he’s drying his hair. He just stares at it for a long while, his 8-year-old eyes giving away his mixture of emotions; wide, for the immediate fear, and then for the realization and excitement that shortly follows.

Lance recalls the tales from his abuelita, the stories his friends share about their parents, and the lessons he’s learned in class, all in one quick flash. He knows what this means.

He knows.

“Mama!” Lance shouts as he scurries into the hallway, his blue eyes never leaving the indigo print on his skin.

His mother is quick to appear, apron tied around her waist and ladle still in hand, her expression clearly displaying her attitude about being interrupted during dinner preparations. “Ay, Lance, what is it now?”

Lance doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he fixates on his palm; turns it under the hallway light like it’s a glistening jewel. He squints, noticing the blue-gray hues, his mind trying to think of a name for this color.

It’s truly just skin, but it’s also so much more than that. Lance’s mother opens her mouth to ask again, but before any words leave her, her eyes catch what her son is so obsessed with. Her eyes goes just as wide as his. She quickly closes the remaining distance between them and grasps both hands around Lance’s, holding it up closer to her face, examining the sapphire color. The ladle drips a bit of broth on the floor but she pays no mind to this. Lance swallows, anticipation welling in his chest.

“Oh, mijo!” Suddenly, Lance is engulfed in a giant hug, his face pressed into the softness of his mother’s middle. He sinks into the embrace, eyes blinking in search of light, still very dazed about the rushed sequence of events. “Everyone, come look! Lance is going to get a soulmate!”

 

 

They first appear after one has crossed paths with their soulmate. Keith knows that much. The sign reveals itself as a patch of discolored skin somewhere on the person’s body, supposedly the color of their soulmate’s eyes. Some people call it the lover’s color, the soul mark, the sweetheart stain—whatever. Keith couldn’t care less. He zones out during class, allowing the teacher’s mundane voice to reduce to white noise, redirecting his attention to something more interesting outside the window. A passing car, perhaps, or a bird returning to the same tree to build its nest. The word ‘soulmate’ means nothing to Keith—as for as he’s concerned, it’s a trap. Who in their right mind would give up their future for some other sore loser, all because of the twisted hands of fate? Not Keith.

And definitely not his parents.

Since last Monday, when the lessons about soulmates were first introduced to the class, it’s been all the rage in conversation topics. He hears the gossip his classmates share around, spilling the stories about how their parents met or whatever the deal is with their older sibling’s new lover. While involuntarily eavesdropping, he catches wind that one of his classmate’s, Lance, has just recently gotten his mark. That makes him the first in his class to get it. Keith’s never seen it, but he hears bickering about the color—some say blue, some say violet. It’s useless information.

Keith thinks about his parents more than he would like, and wonders if they were each other’s soulmates. When he gets home, he finds himself studying his father, eyes flickering over bare skin for a color that doesn’t belong. Nothing. There’s a possibility that the man could be covering it with his clothes, but Keith could never recall a time when he saw his father’s soul mark. Maybe his father fell in that percentage of people who just don’t get a soulmate, but what would that make his mother, if they weren’t soulmates?

 

 

“The longer one is apart from their soulmate,” the teacher turns his back to the class to scribble something on the whiteboard. The black letters read: Essence Dissolution. “They will notice that their soul mark will gradually grow, and it will keep growing until they finally form a proper bond with their soulmate. This phenomena is called Essense Dissolution: when one’s soul becomes so deprived of it’s reciprocal that it sends out a distress signal, causing the enlargement of the soul mark.”

Lance glances down at his upturned palm, worry knitting his brows together. He examines it in the sunlight, wondering if it had gotten any bigger in the recent time he’s had it. It’s too soon to tell—he knows this—but the anxiety still eats at his stomach. Lance envisions what life would be like if a big portion of his body was covered in indigo hues. Surely, he would have to find his soulmate quickly.

“—Or, at least that's what we know,” the teacher continues. “Unfortunately, there isn’t enough information about the exact mechanics behind soul marks or their, er, _incentives,_ for us to fully understand them. Soul marks are almost as unique as snowflakes. Not every phenomena has a name just yet, and scientists are currently testing out the theory if soul marks’ reactions depend on the possessor. Namely, our emotions, behaviors, maybe even childhood…”

Keith’s attention is caught for a moment, before the teacher’s words eventually drift into the background. His eyes flicker over to Lance, a couple rows in front of him to the right, who is the only one fidgeting in his chair. Keith sighs quietly and gazes out the window once more.

 

 

His mother is a sensitive topic that Keith often avoids talking about. It’s fine, though, when he father brings her up first. He listens quietly to the, “you’re mother used to love this song,” and the, “she always made sure the bacon a little burnt, didn’t she?” Keith watches his father’s face when he reminisces like this. There’s never any particular sign of pain or regret; never a sigh of grief after a sentence; he’s as mellow as if he were talking about what happened at work.

There are still pictures of her in plain sight, like on the wall in the hallway or propped on the coffee table in the living room. Keith sometimes forgets they’re there. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t acknowledge them. When he becomes aware of this, he questions if it happens subconsciously, or if he’s actively trying to ignore the elephant in the room.

Keith still doesn’t look at the framed photos.

His mother’s absence has become too apparent to confront.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ay, Lance,” Mrs. McClain sighs, roughly comforting her lamenting son as she rubs his back. He’s much too old for this, she thinks to herself, but in this vulnerable moment, there’s no fighting it. “How many times has it been already? You’re crying over nothing, mijo. Just let it go.”

Lance can only sob louder. He clutches handfuls of his mother’s shirt in his fists, further burying his face in her shoulder. As charasmatic as he is in public, he’s a helpless mama’s boy behind closed doors, and probably always will be until the day he dies.

When his mother notices that there is no ceasing the hot tears that soak her shirt, she sighs and shifts in the couch, hoisting her son up so he lifts his head. She runs her thumb under his eyes, feeling her heart clench at Lance’s despairing face. “Oh, mi cielito,” the woman kisses her sons forehead, combing back his hair with her warm palm. “What is her name, hm? Is she from school?”

“Allura,” Lance stammers between uncontrolled breaths. A harsh sob shakes his chest and snot gushes from his nostrils. His mother is quick to wipe it away with her hem of her shirt, pinching his nose a little as she does. Lance slides out of his mothers embrace and hides his face in his arms, brutally rubbing his face in his sleeve.

Since discovering that he was destined to have a soulmate, Lance was determined to leave his heart open, now more than ever. He’s always been very welcoming to love and didn’t put up much of a fight when it came to crushes; he also flirts like it’s his second nature. His latest crush, however—Allura—she’s a bit different from the rest. Anyone could take one glance at her and know her beauty. Lance, who was quick to analyze Allura’s eyes, was promptly shattered when he realized they didn’t match the blotch of indigo on his palm. It should be alright, he convinced himself, and figured he would shoot his shot anyway.

He didn’t consider Shiro to be an obstacle.

Allura was polite when rejecting Lance, and she really should have left it at that, but to bring up Shiro—it was unfair. Unfair because Lance didn’t dislike Shiro—on the contrary, actually—and who was he to think that he could stand a chance. Shiro, who is older by a few years and undoubtedly the spitting image of perfection, completely eclipsed Lance.

“You love too much,” Lance’s mother sighs, pulling her son back in for a more gentle hug, holding the back of his head to press his face into her shoulder once more. “You are too devoted, Lance. Too caring. No one can ever love as strongly as you do, and at the end of the day, you break your own heart because of it. I promise you, Lance, one day, all of your love will be returned, and you will never cry miserable tears ever again.”

 

 

What does it mean to have a soulmate, anyway? And when you meet them—like, truly meet them—is it love at first sight or do you have to work for it? It might as well be an entire fireworks show if it’s fated, Keith resolves.

He’s just gotten back from school, the day’s lessons still buzzing in his mind. It was particularly hard to ignore this time. All this talk about soulmates and fated partners and other nonsense that should only belong in fairytales has been bothering him lately. A girl in his class has just gotten her soul mark, and she shows it off to her friends with pride. They squeal and giggle like flocks of schoolgirls often do, and soon, the rest of the class is on her case. She swears her soulmate is the boy in her piano class whom she’s been crushing on for some time now. Her friends can only squeal in response.

Keith wonders what it is with everyone making a big deal about soul marks, but further speculates as to why he is so disinterested. From a broad perspective, _he’s_ the weird one, while everyone else fits in perfectly with their shared obsession.

He peels off his uniform, subsequently pulling whatever homewear out of his dresser to change into. As he’s about to slip on a T-shirt, Keith catches a glance of himself in the full-body mirror leaned against the wall.

Blue.

Keith slips one arm in its sleeve.

_Wait, what?_

Bewildered eyes dart back to his reflection. Keith’s heart stops. Right there, right underneath his left shoulder blade, a blue mark. It almost looks like a diamond, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that there’s blue where there shouldn’t be; blue on Keith’s back when his surrounding skin is, in fact, not blue.

There’s a physical pause in space and time, like the whole world is holding it’s breath for this moment. Keith’s eyes go as wide as bowling balls. He’s in disbelief; an audible “huh?”, and then the panic kicks in. In a flurry of motions, soon Keith is clawing at his back, nearly pressed against the mirror as if he could get any closer. His arms reach for his back like lanky cranes, over his head and under, until strained fingers finally reach his shoulder blade. Keith rubs and scratches at the blue mark wildly, praying that it’s just residue from a marker or something. The mark doesn’t budge.

By the time Keith finally drops his arms, he’s broken a sweat. His reflection reveals that almost the entire left side of his back is red, harsh nail markings a darker shade than the rest. His head feels empty and there’s something triggered in him that makes him feel like he has to puke. Keith forces a heavy lump down his parched throat, unsure of what to do now—does he scream? Run? What are people supposed to do when they find their soul mark? He's breathing hard now. 

Keith's vision goes black.

 

 

“What about you friends at school, hm? Has Hunk found gotten his soul mark yet?” Lance’s mother speaks over her shoulder from the kitchen sink. She’s decided to do the dishes herself instead of forcing Lance to do it, who is recovering from a literal breakdown. His other siblings are out, luckily, so Mrs. McClain takes the opportunity to make her youngest son a bowl of his favorite ice cream to help him calm down. A part of her wishes she could spoil her son like this carelessly, but holds steadfast to the discipline and tough love that’s kept her sane in such a crowded household.

“Hunk has,” Lance mutters, swirling his spoon in the melted, soupy substance. “But he already knows his soulmate. It’s Shay.”

“Shay!” The woman resonates, swooning a bit, clutching a soapy sponge with both hands. “What a cutie, that one. Strong, too!”

“Katie hasn’t, though,” Lance continues. “But she doesn’t believe in soulmates. She says it’s a genetic mutation to buy into, uh, capitalism, or whatever.” He sighs and swallows a spoonful of the liquid-turned ice cream. “I see her talking to Keith about that kind of stuff sometimes, but I think they’re both crazy.”

“Keith?” Mrs. McClain questions, glancing back at the boy sitting at the counter. “I’ve never heard that name from you before.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t have many friends, either. To be honest, I don’t know why Katie wastes her time with that guy—he’s the human embodiment of an ice cube.”

Lance’s mother turns off the sink and wipes her hands with a dish towel on the counter. “Lance,” she starts, her serious tone catching her son off guard, who already begins to rethink his words. “Don’t talk about other people that way, hijo. If you don’t talk to him, you don’t truly know him. How about you join in on his and Katie’s conversation next time, hm? Say hi. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Lance hums in response, waving off the suggestion. He thinks a bit harder, though, and Keith’s blank expression pops into his head. He’s hostile, alright, but also hard working, as Lance would sometimes observe during P.E. classes. He’s also witnessed Keith talk back to the teachers on more than one occasion. In all honesty, it’s not like Lance _hated_ the guy—they just had they’re differences. How was he, natural charmer and social butterfly, supposed to understand the walking brick wall that sits in the back of the class?

He contemplates the idea a bit longer, holding the licked-clean metal spoon between his nose and upper lip. Maybe talking to Keith was worth a shot.


	3. Chapter 3

When Keith walks into the classroom the next morning, he carries himself dreadfully, like he’s walking into a funeral. Perhaps it is a funeral in a way, since the boy woke up feeling like something had died inside of him. His head throbs from his lack of sleep and the impending stress that lingers from the night before.

It was hysterical, really. Keith’s dad had walked in on him crying, caved in on himself on the floor, shirtless. The man nearly had a heart attack. He was worried at first, pleading for his son to tell him was wrong. Keith had no verbal response, but it was enough for him to be held by two strong arms. His father pulled him into a tight embrace and rocked him side to side in a slow, gentle manner. Keith was no longer angry at that point, but he felt like he had been gutted by his own reflection, like something was stolen from him. Pride? Freedom? No particular word came to mind to name the uncomfortable feeling. So he sat there, welcoming whatever consolation in hopes of calming his nerves.

The bustling of people in the classroom makes Keith wince. He makes a beeline for his desk, dodging groups of friends messing around, and promptly takes his seat. He leaves his backpack on his lap to sheild his face. The noise of his classmates’ laughter rings in his ears.

“Hey,” a voice greets, startling Keith as he was beginning to doze off. The voice is too close to be apart of nearby conversation. Keith’s head cranes upward, a deadly scowl on his face. The sunlight beaming through the windows to his left make him squint.

“You’re, uh, Keith, right?”

It’s Lance. He’s standing in front of Keith’s desk, fingers fidgeting with the hem of blue his shirt, an unreadable expression on his face. Keith is shocked, almost, for more than one reason—sure, they’re not exactly best friends, but he’s decent enough to at least know the guy’s name. After all, they did talk before, and were in the same class for a while now. Hearing the uncertainty in Lance’s voice makes him frown.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Keith simply replies.

“I’m Lance,” the other responds.

“I know.”

Not much of a conversationalist, Lance notes. His lapis eyes scan Keith’s face like he’s processing something. He swallows, making a decision. In a swift motion, Lance pulls up a chair from another desk and plants it in front of Keith, plopping himself down. He folds his arms on the desk between them and tries to smile.

“We don’t talk much, but, uh,” Lance starts. “I figured we should change that, y’know? Get to know each other better; indulge in a little small talk!” Before Keith can respond, he continues rambling. “But, I get that suddenly trying to act like friends is overwhelming, so let’s start slow. You see any new movies recently? Shoot, what’s that one that just came out in theaters? _Oh!_ Um—”

The bells rings. Thank God. Keith sighs a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. The vibrations of the bell through the speakers sends another throb to Keith’s brain and his winces, visibly so, catching Lance’s attention.

“Keith? You okay?” Lance leans forward a bit, and finally, finally, Keith looks up to meet his gaze. He blinks, eyes widening at the shrinking of the space between them, until it stops. What ever it is, it stops. Everything stops. The birds stop singing, the earth stops rotating, time stops passing. The whole universe stills itself. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for _it._

Keith sees blue.

Lance sees indigo.

Four irises, two pairs, staring back at one another. The silence is excrutiatingly loud. Somewhere deep in outer space, a star explodes and they feel it. They feel the bang and the flames and all the galactic goodness surging through their veins, and then, evidently, the black hole. It’s huge. It swallows the both of them; absorbs them into a dimension where no one else can traverse.

They are completely and utterly alone together, except they’re not. They’re in a classroom with a number of other students and the day is about to start. The teacher has already entered and is standing at the front of the room, waiting for the young teenagers to settle down.

“Mr. McClain,” a voice pierces, startling the two boys out of their moment. It’s silent again, except this time, it’s a real silence. All eyes are on them. “Please return to your seat.”

Lance moves without a word. He stands awkwardly, slowly, as if he would collapse if he moved too quickly. His legs are stiff, joints folding and unfolding mechanically like broken clockwork. He reaches his desk and sits. He doesn’t look back.

 

 

“Alright class, please turn to where we left off last time,” the teach instructs, flipping through pages of his own copy of the textbook. “Page 107: The Immediate Signs After Encountering One’s Soulmate.”


	4. Chapter 4

A heavy sense of uneasiness lingers in Lance’s gut throughout the day. How is he supposed to focus in class when sitting just two rows behind him was his— No. He couldn’t think about it. Just forming concrete thoughts about it made his stomach churn more. To distract himself, Lance clung to his friends like a sloth to a tree. His natural charming aura had seemingly disappeared, ridding him of his comical jokes and witty comebacks. His pick-up lines, too, were in slow production.

Occasionally, Lance’s eyes would steal a glance at Keith, who seemed to be in worse condition than himself, before quickly averting somewhere else. In all honesty, Lance didn’t want to look at Keith, but he’d do it anyway as if on instinct. It only further reminded him of the anxiety that clouded his head.

First, it was denial. Lance tried to convince himself that he had misunderstood the situation—startled by the bell, perhaps, and saw something in Keith’s eyes that wasn’t truly there. Maybe the color of Keith’s eyes, despite being strikingly similar to the blotch on Lance’s palm, was a shade too dark or too light. Or whatever. Any excuse would suffice if it just helped ease his deadly heartbeat.

By the time school ended, Lance had formulated two options—to talk to Keith and confront the elephant in the room, or to ignore him like nothing happened and move on with life. Obviously, the latter was _much_ more appealing by the long run, but at the same time, Lance needed answers. He wanted to face the issue head-on if it meant giving him a good night’s rest. Of course, he spent class periods agonizing over the idea instead of note taking, but when the last bell sounded throughout the building, he knew he had to act quick. In the end, his determination and sheer stupidity got the best of him.

“Keith!” Lance calls out from the school entrance doors to his target, just a few meters in front of him. A headful of black hair swivels around, one body standing still in a rush of momentum, like a rock peeking out of the ocean’s surface. Lance quickes to a jog, finally reaching Keith’s side after bumping and pushing his way through.

“Keith,” he repeats, breathless this time, “Keith, buddy. We need to talk.”

“We don’t,” Keith replies, realizing his mistake of stopping. He all too hastily resumes walking at a faster pace, head down as if to avoid confrontation.

“Hey, wait!” Lance calls, moving to catch up. “Wow, okay, so you’re just gonna blow me off like that, huh? And I assume we’re going to sweep everything under the carpet, then?”

“Sweep what?” Keith spits. “I don’t remember there being _anything_ between us.”

Lance is taken aback for a moment, his feet almost stopping altogether at the retort. It hits his heart with a pang. He recollects himself quickly enough, though, and pursues onward, hot on Keith’s trail. Lance brings a hand to turn the other around to face him. They’re outside the school property now, a good distance away, just two boys on the sidewalk after having fallen behind the rest of the crowd.

“Don’t say that,” Lance exhales, sounding more vulnerable than he intends. He’s got a firm grip on Keith’s shoulder, who is still avoiding eye contact at a time like this. Silence presses on for a moment as Lance tries to think of something to follow up.

“What are we supposed to do?” Keith asks, voice barely carrying over the sound of a passing car.

“What?” Lance’s face distorts into confusion.

“What did you expect to happen, Lance? Did you— did you think we would _build_ something from this? From whatever _this_ is?” Keith’s voice cuts through Lance like a knife, voicing the questions he tried not to ask. Lance drops his arm back to his side, a uncomfortable silence settling over the two. He swallows the dryness in his throat.

“Well, yeah,” Lance admits. Keith’s pessimistic attitude falters at this, blinking in disbelief, stunned at the tenderness and pure honesty in Lance’s voice. They share a moment of looking into each other’s eyes, both harboring completely different reactions, and it’s Keith’s turn to gulp down a lump in his throat. The ocean in Lance’s eyes shimmer with the afternoon sun, revealing all the emotions underneath its waves.

“It’s not that easy.” Keith’s voice is quiet in his reply. His eyes narrow downward, wanting to focus on anything by the boy standing before him. He feels his heart pounding against his rib cage and wishes it would just _shut up._ “Lance, it’s— it’s just not realistic, okay? It’s not. And I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

Lance takes a minute to formulate his response. What _did_ he want Keith to do about it? Truthfully, starting off by being friends would be nice, but he got an inkling that he wasn’t exactly Keith’s favorite person right now.

A gust of wind blows through the nearby trees and sweeps right under the two boys. Keith stumbles forward in surprise, falling into Lance, who catches him by the elbows intuitively. Wild indigo eyes go wide as they dart up to meet a blue pair staring down at him, gentle and, dare he say, welcoming. Keith exhales a shuddering breath through his nostrils and almost gives in on the spot. Lance, on the other hand, doesn’t let go, and holds eye contact like it’s a life line.

“I,” Keith starts, floudering for the words. “We— ugh, Lance, you—”

“I get it,” Lance interrupts. “I get that it’s hard to understand and everything is so confusing and we don’t know enough. We’re still kids, Keith, and I get that, but—” Lance shakes his head and sighs, his grip only tightening on the other’s elbows. He takes a bold step forward. “But we can’t just leave this the way it is, whatever… _this_ is. I’m not asking for much, just that—” Another pause. “Just that we try.”

“Try?” Keith resonates, cocking a brow.

“Yes,” Lance breathes. Silence fills in the tight gap between the two as Lance quietly anticipates a response, the suspense physically hurting his bowels. Then, in the slightest motion that crescendos into a clear nod, Keith’s expression softening under Lance’s gaze. Sweeps of wind combs through their hair, but they don’t bother to move the locks out of their eyes, too absorbed in each other.

“Okay,” Keith finally says, swallowing his pride. “Okay. I can do that. I can try.”


	5. Chapter 5

“So,” a raspy voice starts, followed by a pause. Keith looks up from his plate to his father across the table from him, who is shoveling forkfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Keith’s stomach begins to churn with apprehension. “You got something you want to talk about, little man?” the man continued.

Keith was almost shocked at the question. It wasn’t like his father to pry information out of him. Technically, the inquiry was more like a temperature check, but the boy knew there were ultetior motives to it. The two hadn’t brought up last night’s incident, but Keith was sure his old man had gotten a good look at the blue splash on his back. Honestly, Keith planned to just pretend like it never happened, but in the back of his mind, he was aware of the conversation that would inevitably follow.

“No,” Keith responds, taking another bite of his stake. The man across of him glances up at this before cutting himself another piece as well.

“Alright,” he simply responds.

The two continue to eat in uncomfortable silence.

Without a word, Keith gets up from his chair and collects the dishes, shuttling them to the kitchen sink. He pauses in his tracks, as if to contemplate something, and suddenly makes a sharp turn on his heels.

“Actually!” He exclaims. “A-Actually, yeah, there is.”

Keith’s father, who was ready to get from his seat, settles back down, fingers interlacing over his stomach. He waits patiently, dawning the parental expression of _‘it’s okay, you can do it’_ as he watches Keith fidget in the kitchen.

“I met him,” Keith says. He doesn’t think about the word _him_ as cautiously as he should until after the fact. His eyes go wide at the realization of his error, lips pursing, awaiting some sort of response. The air in the room grows thick.

The man sighs and pushes himself off his seat. “That’s good, isn’t it?” He chuckles, mocking his son's expression, who looks like he just died. He shuffles into the kitchen to pull the boy into a loose embrace. Keith, not expecting such gentleness, lets himself fall limp into his father’s arms. “What’s his name?”

Keith extends an arm to set the dishes carefully onto the counter before returning the hug. His own arms are tight when they squeeze, taking a deep breath to exhale all of his anxieties. This is a bonding moment, Keith notes, and he doesn’t make very many of those. He wasn’t the type to be incredibly close with the people around him, even his own father, but he loved him nonetheless.

“Lance,” Keith whispers. A hand moves to gently pat his head.

 

 

It had never occurred until after he went home that Lance’s soulmate was another guy. A classmate, for that matter, whom he had no established relationship with. The idea didn’t disgust him, per se, but it was a little offputting. In his childhood dreams, he pictured his soulmate to be a beautiful girl who would fall for him at first sight; he would work hard for her and spoil her rotten with all the love he could possibly muster. One day, perhaps, they would have children, and that would be his happily ever after.

Now, Lance has to crumple up his fantasies and throw them in the trashbin, giving up the future he oh-so-carefully planned for himself. It’s fine, he tries to think reassuringly, but it doesn’t help. Lance knows he shouldn’t think about the situation so negatively since it is, after all, inescapable, but he can’t help but feel as if he’s betrayed himself. If he could go back in time, how would he break the news to his younger self? Never mind that—what about his family? His abuelita, who swore she would wholeheartedly support his dreams of fulfilling a peaceful future with lovely wife; his mother, who would surely react explosively at the news. Someone was bound to have a heart attack.

It wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to be of the same sex. If that’s what fate wanted, that’s what it made possible. Of course, Lance knew of the expansive wonders of love and had no prejudice against gay couples. He would like to say he’s educated on the matter, too, after hearing stories from his grandmother and a working through a whole unit dedicated to LGBT soulmates at school. The setback? The fact that Lance had only experienced romantic feelings for girls.

“It’s impossible,” Lance sighs aloud, feeling gutted by his own words. He felt guilty for admitting it but he knows he’s right. He’s lying on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling with both arms folded behind his head. He can hear his family downstairs, chatter mixing with the sound of the television. Then, causing a sudden wave of more ruckus, he feels the vibration of the front door opening and closing through the walls. Curiously, Lance swings his legs over the edge of the bed, wondering who could have arrived at this hour.

“Uncle Lance, Uncle Lance!” A familiar voice called from another room, followed by quick footsteps running down the hallway. Soon, before Lance can barely register that his bedroom door is being swung open, he finds himself being tackled onto his back by a small body. Lance welcomes the force into his arms and falls with a wheeze, trying to access the situation. His confused gaze is met with the round face of his niece, Maria.

“Uncle Lance!” Maria cries. “Guess what?”

“Jesus, Maria, where did you come from?!” Lance screeches.

“Daddy drove us!” The girl answers without missing a beat, her round eyes filled with excitement. Lance’s older brother, Luis, was probably in the living room with the rest of his family, along with Maria’s twin brother.

Shifting his postion so he could hoist the girl onto his lap, Lance can’t help but smile at the young face beaming up at him. “What’s got you in such a hurry, niña?”

“I got my soulmate today!” Maria’s voice explodes like a popped balloon, her hands forming fists in her uncle’s sleeves. A harsh shiver run down Lance’s spine at _the word,_ feeling all sorts of emotions rush back to him. The day’s earlier events replay in his head involuntarily. For a moment, his smile drops and he’s shocked stiff.

“It’s Livie!” Maria continues, her uncle’s frozen state going unnoticed. Lance connects the nickname back to Olivia, Maria’s best friend, who has visted a couple times back when Luis still lived with them. “Livie is my soulmate and we get to spend out whole lives together!” The young girl swings her shoulders side to side in pure joy, a wide grin as bright as the sun shining through the room.

Lance is late to return the excitement. His niece’s soulmate is her best friend—another girl. If it weren’t for his own incident, the news probably wouldn’t even faze him, but it does, and all he can think about is Keith. Keith’s horrified expression when he was confronted by Lance and Keith’s opposed voice when they argued and Keith, Keith, Keith. Keith, who sits at the back of the class. Keith, who is technically a friend of a friend through Katie. Keith, who _doesn’t want to be Lance’s soulmate._

The stark difference between his situation and his niece’s wounded him. It’s because she’s a kid, Lance tries to convince himself. It’s because she doesn’t know any better so of course she would be happy. It’s because fate tried real hard to make sure her and Olivia had a great friendship before an even better relationship. It’s because fate hates _him,_ he decides, and possibly hates Keith even more, so whatever greater power at work cursed them with a future neither of them planned for.

Lance can’t deny the feeling of betrayal in his gut. _It’s not fair._

“I’m happy for you,” Lance musters, the words leaving him like a sigh. He forces himself to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i gave lance's niece the name maria bc im basic! i want to get to know his family better ;(


	6. Chapter 6

It’s hard to talk about, Lance learns quickly. It’s hard to talk about, and yet, he has to get it off his chest or else he’ll implode. It’s hard to think about as is, and speaking about it to another person seems almost impossible, but it has to be done. There was no way he could simply sweep the episode with Keith under the rug, pretending like it never happened, or at the very least, like the situation isn’t dire. It is dire, though, it’s incredibly dired to Lance—he’d finally met his soulmate; the mystery person he dreamed about for his whole life. The more he ponders the better part of his circumstances, Lance feels like he can come to terms with himself.

Perhaps he can come to terms with Keith, too, with enough determination. Keith is definitely not someone who can be easily persuaded, as Lance got to know firsthand, but it’s nothing time, patience, and persistence can’t overcome. 

He decides that Katie and Hunk will be the first he’ll inform and then his family later, to ease the tension he knows will arise when he breaks the distressing news to his mother. Hours pass like minutes as he agonizes over it; spends days bracing himself for the impact. He plans out the process perfectly, and then considers the number of potential distasters that could ensue. Still, nothing prepares Lance for the real deal, and he finds that reality is much more nerve-racking than any 3a.m. nightmare.

“So,” Katie starts, eyes not moving from the screen of her phone as she shovels another forkful of beef macaroni in her mouth. Lance swallows on his salive, his own fork frozen in the air, the movement of his hand halting like broken clockwork. “You gonna tell us what’s bothering you, or are we gonna have to scoop it out of your guts ourselves?”

“Gross,” Hunk hisses, shooting a grimace toward Katie as he gulps down his chocolate milk carton, setting it down with a fulfilled sigh. “But, yeah, Lance, what’s got your panties in a knot, bro?”

“ _That’s_ gross,” Katie scoffs. “Don’t ever say that word in my presence, thanks.”

“What? Panties?” A smirk tugs at the corners of Hunk’s lips, looking smug and full of mischief as he begins to jab at his friend’s side. Katie puts down her phone to block his attacks, darting her own quick bullets while she’s at it until they’re going back at forth, poking and pinching each other without restraint.

“I got my soulmate,” Lance spouts, the words bursting from his lungs like he’s been winded, silencing his friends’ bickering almost instantly. They calmly retract to sitting in front of their lunch plates again, a good distance between the two of them.

“Okay,” Hunk says, pulling his square of bread apart and popping a piece in his mouth. “Not to, y’know, undermine your courage for telling us, but we kinda got the jist of it when the news spread around the class like a wildfire.”

“Like a disease,” Katie adds, waving her fork at Hunk before stabbing it into her mound of macaroni.

“Sure, whatever,” Lance continues, shaking his head. “What I meant to say is that I met my soulmate. Like, I know them. Maybe. We’re kind of still on a first-name basis.”

“That’s great!” The table shakes with sudden clattering as Hunk slaps his hands against it, the trio’s lunch trays bumping with the movement. Lance opens his mouth to explain when Katie beats him to it.

“Except it’s not,” the girl glances his up from her phone, green eyes peering over the top of her round glasses knowingly. “Your soulmate isn’t who you expected them to be, right? And the guilt is eating your alive, so you have to confess your sins to the holy priests that are Hunk and I.” Katie, taking another bite of lukewarm macaroni, meets Lance’s gaze in such a composed manner that it’s unsettling.

“Am I right?” Katie asks.

“Um, yeah,” Lance stammers, unable to form a proper response. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Like, so incredibly right that I’m literally speechless. What the hell?”

“Well,” Maintaining the same collected composure, Katie continues. “Reading your mannerisms is easy enough, since you’re normally a magnetic airhead—”

“Hey!”

“But I can’t say much on your behalf since I don’t know the full story, but just know the we’re here for you, Lance.”

The sudden kindness seems out of character for Katie, considering she’s a sarcastic goblin on default, as Lance would describe it. It’s mostly shocking to him, really, but he’s not unwelcoming to it. Lance’s expression softens and a breath he’s been holding in finally escapes him, ridding his chest of a good portion of the anxiety that’s kept him awake for nights on end.

“Yeah,” Hunk slings an arm around Katie’s shoulder and pulls her into him, evoking grunts of distain at the involuntary affection. “If you’re ready to talk about it, we’re all ears for you, buddy.”

There’s a moment of sickening sweetness that overwhelms Lance. Engulfed in a wave of relief that he didn’t know he needed, Lance flies himself across the table to throw his arms around his wonderful friends, near choking them into a tight hug. Hunk welcomes it, of course, and engulfs the other two in the warmth of his bulky arms. Katie, on the other hand, threatened by the totally-not-asked-for intimacy is vigorously tapping out, squished between two bodies.

“Um, sorry, hi,” an interrupting voice breaks the moment, followed by a slight shift in the table and bench. Three pairs of eyes look over simultaneously, detecting a classmate of theirs whom isn’t necessarily a part of their circle. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Lance’s jaw drops—do his eyes decieve him? After a moment to awkwardly seat himself with the trio, the visitor blows a piece of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ears. Indigo oculi fall into Lance’s gaze and he feels his heart could stop. Keith? Consciously making the decision to join him for lunch? Words fail him completely, leaving Lance gawking like a fish, frozen in time.

“Oh, hey, Keith,” Katie greets, snapping Lance out of his trance. He settles back into his seat, unable to remember how to act normally. He leans on his elbow, head on his palm, resting in the most unnatural position as he gazes back at Keith, who gives the tiniest smile in his direction. A _smile._ Surely, this is a dream.

“W-What are you doing here?” Lance asks, suffering from a horrific voice crack, which he tries to conceal by clearing his throat and making his voice noticeably lower. It’s a minute before he gets an answer, but he waits nonetheless.

Keith scoops a forkful of macaroni, but doesn’t lift it to his mouth. He seems to contemplate the food for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts, before finally turning to meet Lance’s gaze. He swallows.

“Trying,” he says. “This is me…trying.”


End file.
